


Unwind

by tastewithouttalent



Category: Ouran High School Host Club - All Media Types
Genre: Domestic Fluff, Established Relationship, M/M, Massage, No Plot/Plotless, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Tattoos, Yakuza
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-19
Updated: 2018-07-19
Packaged: 2019-06-10 09:08:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,507
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15288243
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tastewithouttalent/pseuds/tastewithouttalent
Summary: "Tetsuya's hands have always been gentle with Ritsu, whether he was smoothing the other’s uniform jacket over his shoulders or sweeping aside some invisible dust from Ritsu’s desk or sliding a brush through the tangled weight of the other’s hair, and they’re gentle now, too, even as the strength in his wrists and shoulders presses down to bear against the curve of Ritsu’s spine." Tetsuya helps Ritsu unwind after a long week and claims an indulgence for them both afterward.





	Unwind

**Author's Note:**

  * For [mostlikeakumquat](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mostlikeakumquat/gifts).



Tetsuya has strong hands. Ritsu has admired that about him from the first moment they met, when Tetsuya coupled the flicker of an uncertain smile with the press of a grip against the other’s hand that was anything but hesitant. His hands have always given away the gentle façade he tries to present, from the pattern of unexplained calluses across them to the faint tracery of knife scars at the knuckles that Ritsu can only see in the brightest of lights, when Tetsuya’s head is ducked in over bandaging one of Ritsu’s own scrapes and his focus is too distracted to remember to keep his fingers in the shadow of his pockets or tucked at the hem of his sweater. But his hands have always been gentle with Ritsu, whether he was smoothing the other’s uniform jacket over his shoulders or sweeping aside some invisible dust from Ritsu’s desk or sliding a brush through the tangled weight of the other’s hair, and they’re gentle now, too, even as the strength in his wrists and shoulders presses down to bear against the curve of Ritsu’s spine.

Ritsu groans against the pillow his face is pressed into, his shoulders flexing against the support beneath him as he fists at the blankets under his fingers and rocks back against the pressure of Tetsuya’s hands. “ _God_ ,” he manages, hearing his voice dragging rough on unvarnished appreciation in his throat. “That feels so good, Tetsuya.”

“I’m sure it does,” Tetsuya says, his voice gentle but his tone edged with the beginning of the judgment that Ritsu knew he would merit when he first stripped his clothes off to offer the web of knots in his back and shoulders to the force of the other’s hands. “You’re more tension than muscle, at this point.” Tetsuya’s knees tighten against Ritsu’s hips, the inside of his thighs flexing to pin the other’s body still beneath his own as his palms draw down to work in against the ache Ritsu carries just where his back curves out into the swell of his ass. There’s a pleasure to the pressure alone, to the languid awareness of Tetsuya’s bare skin pressing warm and flush against Ritsu’s own, to the implicit intimacy of his hands slipping down across skin untouched by any illumination but the dim lighting of the bedroom, but then Tetsuya’s palms dig in deep, and Ritsu’s drowsy arousal is scattered into a groan of satisfaction closer to pain than to pleasure as a deep-down cramp in his muscle seizes, resists, and then gives way to the demand of Tetsuya’s push.

“You need to take more time for yourself,” Tetsuya says. Ritsu hears the words as if they’re at a distance; the whole of his focus is narrowed down to the strain and easing of the muscle just under the other’s touch, as the knot Tetsuya is working against tries to quiver free of the other’s hold to latch itself into a different point along Ritsu’s back. For a moment it seems like it’ll break free by jumping up an inch against Ritsu’s spine en route to his shoulder; then Tetsuya’s left hand comes up to pin the other down, his fingers spread wide across the span of Ritsu’s back, and Ritsu’s lungs empty into a gust of surrender as his shoulders go slack to Tetsuya’s urging. Tetsuya holds him still for a moment, pinning Ritsu to the blankets beneath them under the urging of his palms before he eases the pressure slowly, rocking back to settle himself atop the other’s hips as he loosens his bracing hold and strokes back and down to give up tension for comfort. “You’re not going to be able to take over anything if you throw out your back because you didn’t let me work the knots out.”

“I know,” Ritsu mumbles into the pillow beneath him. His back and shoulders are aching with the distant, pleasant warmth that always comes after a massage from Tetsuya, but Tetsuya’s hands are still sliding over his back, more gently now that he’s dragged free the stress that Ritsu’s been collecting over the last week. Ritsu’s skin prickles under the contact, shivering with pleasant tension as Tetsuya’s fingers skim the pattern of the tattoo laid into his back like he’s tracing the loops and whorls of the ink. “It’s hard to find the time, you know?”

“I know.” Tetsuya’s weight shifts where he’s balanced at the very top of Ritsu’s hips; Ritsu can feel the pull of muscle under the other’s skin, can track the cresting grace of Tetsuya’s movement over him as clearly as if he’s watching it instead of feeling it. He’s glad for the pressure of the blankets under his hips, the way Tetsuya’s weight bears him down against the support beneath him; it makes the stirring of his cock against the sheets pleasure all its own as his body urges heat against the friction of his weight and Tetsuya’s both atop the bed. “You need to take care of yourself, though. The men need to know they can count on you when they need you.”

“Yeah.” Ritsu draws in a deep lungful of air and lets it shudder free into a sigh as he turns his head against the pillows. “I just want to be the best leader I can be.”

“I know.” Tetsuya’s fingers slide up into Ritsu’s hair, catching against the locks as he tugs them back and away from the other’s face. Ritsu shuts his eyes and lets his head tip back to the force as Tetsuya combs the shadow of his hair back from his features and drags his fingernails in against Ritsu’s scalp. The sensation shivers down Ritsu’s spine and makes him groan far in the back of his throat. “You already are that for me, you know.”

Ritsu smiles without opening his eyes. “You always say that, Tetsuya.”

“That doesn’t make it any less true.”

Ritsu draws an arm down to angle his elbow against the sheets and brace himself steady against the mattress. “Guess not,” he allows before he pushes up to twist under Tetsuya’s weight. The other rocks back to allow Ritsu the space to turn over onto one hip as he braces himself up on an elbow; when Ritsu shakes his hair back from his face and looks up Tetsuya is watching him, his eyes soft and his shoulders relaxed as if to belie the strength of the hands so light against Ritsu’s waist now.

“What about the fact that you’re my lover?” Ritsu asks. He reaches out with his free hand to touch at Tetsuya’s hip, to fit the weight of his fingers against the dip of delicate bone just under the other’s skin; his gaze drops to follow the motion, to linger for a moment at Tetsuya’s cock standing as full with desire as Ritsu’s own. “Doesn’t that make you a little biased?”

Tetsuya lifts one shoulder in an offhand shrug. “I like to think it’s the other way around,” he suggests. “That it’s because I know you so well that I fell in love with you in the first place.”

Ritsu can’t help but gust a laugh at this claim. “You saying that anyone who knows me would do the same?”

Tetsuya reaches out to feather his fingers into Ritsu’s hair and stroke it back from the other’s features. “I am,” he says, without any indication of self-consciousness in the dip of his lashes or the soft of his voice. It’s Ritsu who flushes under the clear attention of Tetsuya’s gaze, who feels his shoulders hunching with habitual strain as if to protect himself against the exaggeration that Tetsuya’s words surely must be. “I think the other men would say so too.”

Ritsu coughs over a laugh. “I don’t see any of them in here with us now.”

“No,” Tetsuya agrees. “I’m lucky to have the young lord’s affections all to myself.” He’s smiling, the curve of his lips spreading warmth out over his face in spite of the almost-teasing under his words, and Ritsu is going hot all over from embarrassment and want in about equal measures.

“Tetsuya,” he says, that one word pulling itself into the strain of a groan in his chest, and he pushes to sit up and reach for Tetsuya’s face as part of the same motion. Tetsuya doesn’t fall back, hardly even shifts as Ritsu moves under him, so by the time Ritsu’s hand is clutching against the back of the other’s neck against his pulled-up hair their bodies are fitting close together, Tetsuya’s hips aligned with Ritsu’s and their chests brushing together with every breath Ritsu takes. Ritsu’s fingers brace around Tetsuya’s tied-up hair, his hold taking some of the weight of the heavy ponytail that spills down Tetsuya’s back, and Tetsuya answers him in kind as he winds his fingers into Ritsu’s hair and ducks his head to press his mouth close against the other’s lips. Ritsu’s eyes shut, his throat works on a groan, and Tetsuya urges his mouth open to follow the heat of his touch with the slick press of his tongue against the inside of Ritsu’s mouth.

They stay like that for a time. Ritsu’s hand slides from Tetsuya’s hip to catch at the dip of his back, to hold them together with clumsy intent, and Tetsuya’s fingers work through Ritsu’s hair to wander across the tattoos at his shoulders, to drape heavy around the other’s neck. It’s Tetsuya who rocks his weight forward, who arches himself in to grind against Ritsu with liquid grace; and Ritsu bucks up to meet him, giving up the pretension of elegance in favor of the simplicity of straining thighs and rough exhales. His cock catches at the inside line of Tetsuya’s thigh, sliding up to drag against the friction of the other’s body, and Tetsuya gusts an exhale over him and turns his head to gasp at Ritsu’s hair, to wind the heat of his breathing in against the other’s scalp. Ritsu holds tighter to Tetsuya’s back, wrapping the support of his arm entirely around the other to hold them steady together; it’s only then that he can brace himself to let the other’s hair go and free his hand to fumble sideways across the tangle of the sheets beneath them. His movements are wide, straining for contact more than consciously aimed at a given point, but then Tetsuya lets his arm slide off Ritsu’s shoulders and tips his head to look, and a moment later Ritsu’s fingers find Tetsuya’s atop the shape of the bottle dropped at the far edge of the sheets.

“I’ve got it,” Tetsuya says, and draws the bottle free of Ritsu’s hold and into his own. He replaces his arm across the other’s shoulder, letting Ritsu take the weight of his arm as he thumbs the lid open and stretches his hands out behind the other’s head.

Ritsu lifts his hand back to Tetsuya’s skin, drawing his fingers down to brace against the other’s hip and steady them against each other. His thighs shudder with anticipation, with the heat of what is to come, but what he says is: “Are you sure?”

“Yes,” Tetsuya says, without any hesitation at all. “My hands are slippery anyway.” He draws back from Ritsu’s shoulders, rocking towards his heels so he can reach out and drop the bottle where it was at the same time he angles back to reach behind himself; Ritsu loosens his arm around Tetsuya’s back to let his hand slide across instead, hesitating with his fingers spread over the arch of the other’s spine before he dips down to palm the curve of Tetsuya’s ass. Ritsu’s heart is pounding in his chest, as disbelieving in this intimacy as he always feels, but Tetsuya hums in the back of his throat and rocks back against his touch, pressing into it as he brings slick fingers around to work against his entrance. Ritsu can feel Tetsuya’s thighs flex around him, straining on reflexive tension as the other steadies himself atop Ritsu’s lap, and then there’s a quiver that runs through the other, and a gust of an exhale that ruffles Ritsu’s hair, and Ritsu looks up to watch Tetsuya’s face as the other’s lashes flutter over the sensation of his touch sliding up into the heat of his body.

Ritsu likes this best, he thinks. There’s something achingly satisfying about this span, like the strain of a knot at his spine just before it gives way to the urging of Tetsuya’s palm: to having Tetsuya against him, thighs close around Ritsu’s hips and his cock slick with heat where it’s pressing to Ritsu’s stomach, while Ritsu lifts his head to watch heat glow over Tetsuya’s face as he works into himself. Tetsuya’s eyes are closed, his forehead creased with something a little bit strain and mostly concentration; the tension makes him look older and fractionally harder, like some of the youthful gentleness that usually clings to his parted lips and his soft eyes is giving way to show the steel that underlies his determination, that has formed the core of the loyalty that he has shown in every day of his life with Ritsu, that he has printed into the ink spilling over his shoulders and across his chest, the colors an echo of those Ritsu has laid across his own back and down over the length of his thighs. Tetsuya looks focused, intent, fixed on a goal even as his free hand slides into Ritsu’s hair, as his fingers curl into a fist to hold the locks back from the other’s face, until Ritsu forgets to move himself, until Ritsu is left still and staring under the rhythmic movement of Tetsuya’s thighs tensing against him in answer to the work of the other’s fingers.

Ritsu can see the tension give way in Tetsuya’s features, can watch the ease of satisfaction clear across the other’s forehead and part at his lips even before he opens his eyes with languid care and shifts to ease his touch back from himself. Ritsu’s body flexes in answer, his legs straining against the sheets under him as if he’s taking in all the tension that Tetsuya has pulled free from himself, but Tetsuya’s moving too, shifting in time with the instinctive strain of Ritsu’s body like he’s being carried on the tide of the other’s want. His head ducks forward, his hand drops down between them, and Ritsu is still caught in the first groan of that impulsive desire when Tetsuya’s fingers close around his length to brace him in place. Ritsu gasps a breath, his hands tense and clutch at Tetsuya’s hips, and Tetsuya breathes an exhale and rocks back to slide himself down onto the length of Ritsu’s cock beneath him. Tetsuya’s body eases, Ritsu’s lashes flutter, and they come together in a slide of slick heat that Ritsu feels prickle over the whole of his body like an afterimage of the work Tetsuya’s hands have done on his back.

Tetsuya takes the lead immediately. There are times when Ritsu will tip them down over the soft of the bed, will hunch his shoulders and brace his knees and work heat into Tetsuya until the other goes pliant and helpless with want under him; sometimes Tetsuya puts those graceful fingers to work on Ritsu himself, to stroke the other open until Ritsu feels as undone by that unflinching friction as by the promise of Tetsuya’s cock stroking into him. But most often they’re like this, as they are now: Tetsuya’s knees pinning Ritsu’s hips in place beneath him, Tetsuya’s arms slung with casual grace over Ritsu’s shoulders, and Tetsuya’s whole body flexing and arching to seek out his own satisfaction against the resistance of Ritsu inside him. Ritsu is left to angle his knees open, to feel the tremor of heat building at the inside of his thighs and knotting in against the base of his spine, and to slide his hands up the curve of Tetsuya’s waist, along the shift of his ribs under his skin and across the ink patterning his shoulders and up, to collect Tetsuya into the span of his arms as he ducks forward to press his forehead to the other’s shoulder and gasp for breath against Tetsuya’s chest. His fingers catch at the tumble of tied-back waves, his grip curls in against the elastic holding the fall of Tetsuya’s hair back from his face; when he tugs the tie slides by an inch, giving way to the urging of his hold and to the force of gravity offered by the weight of Tetsuya’s hair. Ritsu drags, Tetsuya lifts a hand to catch at his hair and draw it up and free, and then it’s falling loose into a cascade across his back, toppling across Ritsu’s hands and offering its silky texture for the reach of the other’s fingers. Ritsu urges his fingers up, collecting the weight of Tetsuya’s hair against his hands just to feel the burden of it, to have the locks winding around his hold and across his wrists, and then he lets it go, pressing his palms in against the flex of muscle in Tetsuya’s tattoo-patterned shoulders, urging the other in tight against him as he lifts his head to gasp for breath against the side of Tetsuya’s neck under the shadow of his freed hair. Tetsuya breathes an exhale, the sound soft and gentle with affection, and he angles one of his arms up to brace Ritsu in against him before he steadies a hand against the other’s shoulder and begins to move in earnest.

It’s always overwhelming, Ritsu thinks, to have Tetsuya like this. There’s heat between their bodies, friction and sweat and the salt-tang of desire lingering in the air with every breath he takes, and there’s pressure at his shoulder, Tetsuya’s fingers digging in to brace him still as the other’s thighs flex, as his body moves to work against the tension in Ritsu’s hips and aching in his balls as if it’s another knot to be coaxed free from the strain of the other’s body. Ritsu’s legs quiver, his back strains to rock up, to offer force enough to match and meet the rhythm of Tetsuya’s body working over him, but in the end it’s Tetsuya’s motion they follow, Tetsuya’s grace that catches Ritsu’s breathing to such heights at the back of his throat and clenches his fingers harder than he intends them against Tetsuya’s skin. Tetsuya’s hands are in his hair, winding into the fall of it like he’s stroking against the weight, like he’s savoring the feel of the color against his fingers, and all Ritsu can do is what he always does, like this, and shut his eyes to gasp against the pattern of ink spreading across Tetsuya’s chest and linger in his own good fortune, the incredible luck that has somehow merited the man in his arms, the affectionate touch in his hair, the strain of heat building in his body as Tetsuya urges him to the breaking point. Ritsu’s shoulders are straining, tensing in on themselves without any intention on his part, reclaiming all the pressure Tetsuya drew from him with the weight of his touch and the urging of his hands; and then Tetsuya’s fingers clutch at the back of his neck, Tetsuya’s hips rock up and down in a long stroke of too-much friction, and Ritsu groans a rough note of shock and comes all at once, the strain in him giving way to Tetsuya’s persuasion in a long pulse of pleasure he can feel through the entire core of his body. His hips jerk up, his arms tighten to clutch Tetsuya in against him, and over the top of his head Tetsuya breathes a laugh and slides his fingers into Ritsu’s hair to steady him as the other pants open-mouthed against Tetsuya’s shoulder.

“There,” Tetsuya murmurs, his voice soft and warm as he ducks his head in so close his lips almost touch Ritsu’s ear. “Don’t you feel better now?”

Ritsu closes his mouth and swallows hard, forcing himself back to the present moment with Tetsuya again; it takes an effort, working against the shivering aftershocks that keep spilling through him as if to drain the last of the tension from his limbs. “Yeah.”

Tetsuya hums soft against him, pleased and affectionate at one and the same time. “Good,” he says, and he braces a hand at Ritsu’s shoulder to push him back. “Lie down.”

Ritsu obeys. He doesn’t have the strength to resist even the gentle push of Tetsuya’s hand at the moment; even if he did, the fact that it is Tetsuya is enough all alone to make him willing to submit to whatever the other wants. He falls backwards, landing a little harder than he intended to and with enough of a huff at the impact that Tetsuya’s forehead creases on concern even as he breathes a laugh.

“Careful,” he says, and draws his hand up to push Ritsu’s hair away from his face with delicate care. “You don’t have to rush for my sake.”

Ritsu shakes his head. “I know,” he says. His arms are heavy at his sides, it’s hard to think through raising them, but Tetsuya’s smile is enough to draw his touch up and urge his fingers to press gently against the line of the other’s cheek. Ritsu swallows again but his voice is still rough when he is able to speak. “I don’t want to keep you waiting.”

That makes Tetsuya smile, the slow one that always seems to start in his eyes as much as at the dip of his lips. His lashes flutter, his attention drops down to Ritsu’s mouth, but when he shifts his hand it’s to brace his palm at the bed and lock his elbow so he can hold himself up rather than leaning in for the kiss he was considering. His knees shift as he rocks forward to settle himself on Ritsu’s lap, to steady his balance a little better than he was before, and Ritsu forces his other hand up from the bed to touch at Tetsuya’s hip and hold him steady as Tetsuya fits his free hand into the space between Ritsu’s body and his own. His fingers curl around the flushed want of his cock, his head dips down as his lashes flutter with the sensation, and Ritsu’s fingers push up and into Tetsuya’s loose hair as the other starts to stroke up over himself.

Tetsuya moves fast. Sometimes he draws this long, on rare lazy mornings or the more common late nights, when there’s nothing but the soft sound of crickets to interrupt them and the house has settled itself to peace around the shift of their bodies and the sound of their breathing; but Ritsu can see the color already flushing Tetsuya’s cheeks with want, and can hear the catch of the other’s breathing as he moves, and he’s not surprised when Tetsuya’s wrist falls into a pace akin to that he was setting with his hips a minute before as he coaxed Ritsu towards his own release. He moves easily, pulling over himself with habitual elegance, but it’s not the drag of his fingers that is holding Ritsu’s attention this time. He’s looking up, watching the shadow of Tetsuya’s lashes dip over his gaze and watching Tetsuya’s lips part on the heat of his breathing as it falls in time with his stroking hand, and he feels anticipation curl secondhand into his own chest, tightening at his breathing like he’s setting out to mirror the tension of heat building at Tetsuya’s forehead and creasing at the corners of his mouth. Tetsuya’s shoulders are flexing, his head is tipping back, his teeth are catching at the edge of his lip; and Ritsu pushes himself an inch off the bed, and reaches out to brace his fingers against the back of the other’s head and pull him back down.

Tetsuya loses his hold on his lip, his mouth coming open on a gasp as his eyes clear to focus on Ritsu beneath him, and Ritsu holds him steady, leaning up off the bed to get himself closer as his hold on Tetsuya braces them a few scant inches from each other. Tetsuya’s forehead creases, his lips part, his eyes flicker out-of-focus; for a moment Ritsu can see the building wave as it crests in him, as it strips all consciousness from his expression and leaves the slack heat of instinct bare on his features. Ritsu’s fingers tighten, Tetsuya’s throat works on voiceless heat; and then his lashes flutter, his hips jerk, and his cock spills hot across the strain of Ritsu’s stomach in answer to the pull of his fingers. Ritsu feels Tetsuya tense around him, his body clenching heat around the resistance of Ritsu’s slow-softening cock still within him, and when Tetsuya ducks his head forward to gasp into trembling relief Ritsu lets himself fall back too, giving up the straining closeness for the support of the bed beneath him. His hold goes gentle, the pull to urge Tetsuya’s attention to him falling slack with the other’s release, but Tetsuya tips forward anyway, giving over the strength in his bracing arm to topple close against Ritsu’s chest instead. His head presses to Ritsu’s shoulder, his hair spills forward to catch at the sheets beneath them, and Ritsu gazes up at the ceiling overhead and lets his whole body ease into comfort under the weight of Tetsuya atop him.

Tetsuya moves eventually, while Ritsu’s fingers are still wound into the waves of his hair and bracing at the ink under the other’s skin. Ritsu wonders if they should separate, if he should give up his present comfort in consideration of Tetsuya’s greater ease, but Tetsuya just frees his hand from between them and lifts his arm to drape across Ritsu’s chest. When he turns his head his breathing spills over Ritsu’s neck, closer to his skin than even the clinging weight of his hair, and Ritsu turns in in answer to it, responding to the possibility of contact without even thinking.

He can feel the shift of Tetsuya’s mouth on a smile as their noses bump together, even if he’s far too close to actually see the motion. When Tetsuya blinks Ritsu feels the whisper of the other’s lashes against the line of his cheekbone. “Did I work out some of your tension, young lord?”

Ritsu snorts inelegantly. “Don’t call me that,” he says. “It makes me feel like I’m in high school again.”

Tetsuya breathes a smile. “Fine,” he says, and shifts to fit himself a little closer to Ritsu’s shoulder. “As you wish, Ritsu.”

Ritsu clears his throat. “Yeah,” he says, his voice gruff with affection that he doesn’t try to smooth. “Thanks, Tetsuya.” And he lifts his head to offer the set of his mouth for the soft press of Tetsuya’s lips against his own.


End file.
